


bloodied battlegrounds

by blackvogue



Category: None - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 11:02:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20044921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackvogue/pseuds/blackvogue
Summary: trigger warning for self harm





	bloodied battlegrounds

She lay on her side, hand underneath her cheek and knees pulled up to her chest. She was wearing a large black jumper and flannel pyjama bottoms although the night air was close. She looked up from beneath her eyelashes, taking in every detail of his complexion, knowing with certainty she would never be this close to him again. He stared right back. 

'Will you still be here tomorrow?' She whispers, voice hoarse from the lump in her throat. She feels the familiar pit in her stomach open up and spread. A sickening kind of comfort, like a toxic friend giving you a hug. 

He frowns, drawing his eyebrows together. She doesn't know what to do with this subtle movement. She doesn't even realise she's crying until she hears the thud of a tear on the pillow beneath her. 

'I'm sorry,' he says, and she realises he is pained. His eyes are wet and she thinks; _this one could really have me fooled_. 

She instinctively draws her knees tighter to her chest, wanting to protect herself. She wanted to shield her body so it didn't have to deal with the assault of his words that will come next. She softly caresses her own arm, as she often did. Her body was so fragile. She thought this time she would truly fall apart. Joints falling from their sockets, heart breaking free from the imprisonment of her ribcage and escaping from its life sentence. 

'I don't need you to love me,' she croaks, unsure what gave her the courage to speak this time. 'I just want someone to hold me for a little while, so I can pretend it's enough.'

He dutifully scoops her up in his arms and she falls into his warmth. She heaves and sobs silently, until his t-shirt has turned a completely different shade of grey. He runs his fingertips gently up and down her arm and keeps his lips pressed to the top of her head. He was one of the better ones. More of a conscience. She wondered how long it would take for him to tell his friends about this over a couple of beers. She tried to shake the thought from her mind, knowing she would have plenty of time to dwell over those details in the morning. She closes her eyes and steadies her breath, revelling in how their heartbeats almost line up. She thinks about her favourite books and favourite films, thinks about the fairytale love portrayed in them and tries to appreciate that this would be the nearest she would ever get. 

'Do you ever want to get married?' She asks, not sure what prompted her to ask the question. 

He seems taken aback but gives it some thought anyway.

'Yeah,' he says finally, 'I like the idea of having a family one day, you know? Coming home from work on summer evenings and having picnics with my wife and kids. Maybe there'll be a sprinkler in the garden too, and the kids will try to run through it instead of eating their sausage rolls.'

Profound. 

The corners of her mouth twitch upwards as the vision plays out on the wall in front of her.

'That sounds lovely,' she whispers sincerely, because it truly did. She liked this guy. She hoped he got his family picnic with sprinklers. 

'Will you do one last thing for me?' She asks. 

He seems hesitant and fearful, which she understands as this is probably already been the strangest night of his life. 

'Yeah.' Is his reply nonetheless. 

'Will you invite me to your wedding?' Her voice so hushed she's not sure he could even hear. 'Even if it's ten years from now. Even if you don't remember what I look like. Will you invite me?'

He takes a deep breath and lets it out, deflating against the mattress with relief. _It's just a question_, he was probably thinking, _one that requires an answer that doesn't even need to be truthful. _

'Yeah,' came his carbon copy reply. Then, a squeeze of her arm. 'I mean, perhaps I'll have to extend the invitation to _your_ husband. It would be awfully fucked up but nice to meet him.'

He is unsure, she can tell. He knows this conversation is beyond odd but hopes he was giving her what she wanted. She admires that he's trying, and decides it might be alright to sleep now. 

She nestles further into his chest and closes her eyes, immediately visions of an outside buffet paint the inside of her eyelids. She feels a warmth on her hip and as she looks up from the array of finger foods, she realises her husband has joined her. He is faceless, but she knows he's smiling. 

'Yeah, it would be nice.' She finds herself saying before drifting off into a heavy, restless sleep. 

When she wakes in the morning, her hand is scrunched up between her cheek and pillow. She has returned to the fetal position like it was muscle memory. She extends a hand out to the other side of her mattress to find the sheets cold, not a hint of warmth left in the threads that held it together. She smiled to herself. _He really did have me fooled_, she thought. _I would have guessed sunrise at least_. She manages to drag herself out of bed, rubbing at her swollen eyes and heading to the window. She pulls open the curtains, the early morning light basking her in gold. She childishly closes her eyes and tilts her head backwards. With open arms, she pretends to be floating, rising up, up, up until the clouds are beneath her. 

Her daydream is cut short when she hears a sheepish giggle. She opens her eyes to look out the window before her. Stood on the pavement is her next door neighbour and her two kids. Both clad in a red school uniform, the younger of the two pointing back through the window and giggling. She waves at the little girl, happy to provide some amusement for her before a demanding day at school. Her mother ushers them along and throws her hand up in apology. When they have disappeared from view, she remembers her feet are firmly on the ground.

With a sigh she pads to the bathroom, where the cool tiles sooth the electric skin on the bottom of her feet. Standing in front of a full-length mirror, she pulls off her sweater and lets her flannel bottoms fall to the floor. She looks at herself in the reflection, ribs almost protruding through her skin. She puts her hand on her heart and feels it beat. _Don't worry_, she whispers, _you will be free one day_. It beats excitedly at the news whilst she reaches for a blade. 

Taking a deep breath, she pulls the skin of her stomach taught. With one purposeful strike, she etches another tally mark into the bloodied battlegrounds of her skin, where many men had fought during a war they did not wish to win. 


End file.
